


Strange Bedfellows

by roxanna_rambles



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Second person POV, There was only one bed trope, byleth as the reader, shameless trope story, spoilers for seteth & flayn A support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24152206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxanna_rambles/pseuds/roxanna_rambles
Summary: “Surely you can agree that such a thing would be … quite inappropriate, Professor.”Ah. You should have realized– of course Seteth would be deeply concerned with a sense of propriety. It was probably your time spent as a mercenary, but things that like rarely even crossed your mind. Your eye tended to simply focus on what was plainly practical.Chuckling, you say,“Seteth, we’re both mature, upright members of this resistance army. I think we can handle things. I can see how people might normally look at it as strange, but we’re only adapting to the needs of the current situation, right?”
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 5
Kudos: 77





	Strange Bedfellows

There are an awful lot of details to sort through when running a monastery in the best of times. And, you have learned, there are double the details when _rebuilding_ a monastery.

You’ve been running errands, talking to people, and sitting through meetings all day. Merchants in the neighboring villages had to be tracked down and a food supply secured; blacksmiths located so that weapons could be repaired and purchased; someone had to find a source of feed for the draft animals, someone else needed to inspect the wells and determine if there was still a clean water supply. There was a great deal of overgrown plants blocking pathways and some rooms that had to be cleared, and there was rubble and refuse to clean up; even old bodies that were left behind that needed to be laid to rest appropriately. The monastery was huge and sprawling, so much of the work had to be triaged and prioritized, but even still, the task was incredibly overwhelming.

In the midst of it all, it was Seteth who coordinated the efforts, undaunted by the enormity of the task. The more time you spent helping him prioritize, coordinate, oversee activities, send messages, locate people, track down supplies, and so on, the more you appreciated him. You’d already developed a great deal of respect for the man in the past, but now, watching him almost singlehandedly resurrect Garreg Mach from its ashes … it was nothing short of awe-inspiring. He took it all in stride, and he never seemed to tire. The number of details to sort out was dizzying, but it seemed he was in his element.

Thank the Goddess we had Seteth. You felt absolutely certain if you’d attempted this without him, your team would be an absolute, uncoordinated mess. You’d probably have ended up still trying to sort out your own base of operations for six months. As it stood now, it was the third day and you’d already made staggering amounts of progress.

It was amazing to watch unfold, although it was also more than just a little exhausting. You stopped to rub your temples, fighting against the headache that was threatening to take hold. It had been an incredibly busy day, and daylight had recently faded into its last outside. You’d been locked in a meeting for a few hours now with Seteth, running through all the tasks for tomorrow, and it seemed you were finally starting to finish things up.

“Professor? Are you all right?”

You glance up wearily, catching Seteth’s concerned gaze. You nod.

“Fine. Just a little tired.”

He hummed in understanding.

“We should be finished soon. There is only one final issue to discuss for now. The students … ah, that is to say, your former students have raised some concerns about the living quarters.”

You watched as Seteth took a bundle of paper and unrolled it across the table, weighing it down with some of the flickering candlesticks. The meeting hall you two were using was oversized for the occasion, the pair of you sitting at the edge of an enormously long table, the rest of the room shrouded in shadows except for your little spot illuminated by candlelight. It felt odd in a way, meeting in such a large room, especially the way your voices echoed into the darkness; yet there was also a strange sort of coziness, stooped in the candlelight.

“As you can see, nearly every room on the first floor is in the middle of cleaning or repair. The student dormitories especially saw a lot of damage, apparently from a flood that occurred sometime over the past five years. And as you know, the entrance and reception halls have been befouled by bandits using them as their base of operations, so they are both in dire need of cleaning up.”

You nod along with Seteth, examining the map and all the carefully scribbled notes alongside the rooms. He continues,

“We’ve been rooming our army mostly in the second floor dormitories, but I’m afraid the rooms are very nearly at their limit. Even with placing three or four people per room, we’ve been running out of places to house everyone. And four per room is, shall we say, a rather cozy situation. Some people are voicing requests for a reshuffling of the arrangements.”

You frown.

“What sort of reshuffling?”

Seteth pulls out another bit of paper and unrolls it, clearing his throat.

“Let’s see … Hilda reports that the mattress in her quarters is damaged and wishes to be placed in a separate room … Raphael wishes that his quarters were closer to the mess hall … Lysithea claims that her roommates snore and that she cannot sleep … Sylvain– erm. Requests that he be placed in quarters with female colleagues … Marianne reports that she feels very ‘crowded’ … and Bernadetta wishes to have a room all to herself.”

“Ugh.” You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“All right, well. The bed I’m using has a great mattress. Hilda can use mine, I guess. Raphael can room … here, the one by the stairwell?”

“The nuns are in that room.”

“Oh. Well. What about this one– with Felix, Lorenz and Slyvain? It’s _closer_ to the mess hall.”

“Mmm.”

Seteth scribbled notes with his quill. You continue,

“I have no idea if I snore, but Lysithea can try my room? We already have three other people in there, but they haven’t been waking me up, so it’s probably a good bet.”

“Rather crowded,” Seteth noted.

“I know, but what can we do? Marianne can go to Lysithea’s old room, that would be slightly less cramped for her… Sylvain can take his request and stuff it down his throat …”

Seteth made a delicate snort of amusement, and you feel a little thrill of victory at getting a reaction out of him. After a beat, he replies seriously,

“That seems to be a prudent response. And what of Bernadetta’s request?”

“Hm… . I don’t know. That’s a pretty tough one, but we might be able to manage it.”

You lean forward and tap the map,

“This room here only has three people in it. If we shuffle them around to somewhere else, we could put Bernie there.”

“But where shall we shuffle them?”

You spend the next several minutes discussing the options, suggesting different arrangements. The whole ordeal is like some elaborate jigsaw puzzle. Keeping in mind the limitations of not packing too many people per room and all the other requests from the various occupants, you manage to find a way to shuffle two of the three students you need to move. After that, though, you hit a bit of a wall. That last piece of the puzzle just didn’t want to fall into place.

You were both growing weary and the meeting was dragging on for far longer than it should have been. In truth, you were starting to consider dropping the whole thing, but after putting in this much effort, you also felt stubborn about finally solving it.

Leaning back in your chair and heaving a sigh, you insist,

“There has to be _something_ we haven’t thought of yet. We’re down to just one last person to move, we can do this.”

Seteth looked rather skeptical. Wearily, he said,

“I feel we may have exhausted our options, Professor. We’ve already filled out the old classrooms housing the monks. I wouldn’t dare try fitting any more in there. There’s the cathedral, but … it’s really in no shape for this sort of thing. Not to mention there wouldn’t really be anywhere to sleep.”

“Not unless we have people sleeping in the pews, I guess.”

Seteth crossed his arms and commented dryly,

“I usually try to encourage against that.”

“Mmm.”

You mull things over quietly for another minute and then comment,

“I guess we could always house someone in the stables.”

Seteth eyes you like he’s uncertain whether you’re serious.

“I … er, don’t think that would be wise.”

“I dunno, Marianne might be okay with it.”

Seteth studies you, and when you crack a slight smile, he sighs. Patiently, he points out,

“We may need to inform Bernadetta that we cannot accommodate her request.”

Desperately, you say,

“Hold on, wait. What if … why don’t we just place the last student in my room? That’ll leave an empty room for Bernie. Then I’ll just move myself elsewhere.”

“That’s simply shifting the exact same problem around. Where would _you_ go?”

You shrug,

“I don’t know! Throw me anywhere, I’m not picky. Maybe I just won’t sleep tonight.”

“Byleth …”

“What?”

He levels you with a stern look.

“You must value your own health and wellbeing. I needn’t remind you that is essential for the sake of everyone.”

 _Ugh_. Why did he always have to be right? You stare for the thousandth time at the map spread out on the table. As if staring would somehow reveal a room that hadn’t before existed.

And then, as you’re mulling– gazing off into space more than anything else, really– something occurs to you.

“Seteth,” you say, and he glances up at you. You ask him,

“Where … do _you_ sleep?”

Seteth blinks at you. His expression grows wary.

“Ah … I have quarters on the third floor.”

Expectantly, you ask,

“And it’s only you?”

Slowly, he nods.

You smack the table triumphantly with your hand and give a short, surprised laugh.

“Seteth! You’ve been holding out!”

He appears dismayed.

“I assure you, that was not my intent. As all the men of our group have been sorted into rooms, it currently doesn’t seem necessary to move any more of them.”

You nod, gesturing at the map,

“Right, that’s true, but why won’t we just have Bernie move into this room and I’ll share with your quarters?”

Seteth stares at you, looking positively aghast. Ineloquently, he blurts,

“Y-you?”

You’re not sure why he’s so horrified. Even in the dim candlelight of the room, you can see that his cheeks are dusted with pink.

With a small shrug you answer,

“Well, um, yeah. It would solve everything.”

Clearly ruffled, your colleague takes a moment to visibly compose himself before replying calmly,

“Surely you can agree that such a thing would be … quite _inappropriate_ , Professor.”

 _Ah._ You should have realized– of course Seteth would be deeply concerned with a sense of propriety. It was probably your time spent as a mercenary, but things that like rarely even crossed your mind. Your eye tended to simply focus on what was plainly practical. 

Chuckling, you say,

“Seteth, we’re both mature, upright members of this resistance army. I think we can handle things. I can see how people might normally look at it as strange, but we’re only adapting to the needs of the current situation, right?”

“I … ”

He trailed off, his expression torn. Honestly, it was a little amusing. It wasn’t as though all sense of civility would break down if men and women started sharing the same _rooms_. Certainly in some cases, with some of the, well, less mature individuals, you could see it being a problem– such as Sylvain– but goodness, neither one of you were anything like Slyvain.

You say,

“I’m pretty sure it needn’t be a big deal, Seteth. I certainly don’t consider it to be. I’ve shared rooms with fellow comrades-in-arms on plenty of occasions. To me, it’s simply a practical solution, nothing more.” 

Slowly, the distressed man replies.

“I … do see your logic. However … it still leaves me feeling … uncertain.”

You give him a nod.

“Ok, understood. If it makes you uncomfortable, we’ll simply find another solution.”

You turn again to the map rolled out upon the table, consider it, and add,

“Admittedly, Bernadetta might just have to deal with the crowded company for a little while, but I’m sure she can handle it. Was that the last detail for tonight we needed to cover?”

“Wait.”

You glance back up at him. There’s a strangely determined look now in his eye.

“I know that Bernadetta’s personality is averse to crowded conditions.”

You try to reassure him,

“Yeah, but she’ll be okay. I’ll go and check on her to be sure.”

Seteth took a breath and continued.

“If it’s a choice between her discomfort and mine, I’d much prefer it to be my discomfort.”

You stare at him for a few beats.

“Seteth … you really don’t have to.”

He shook his head.

“You said that the social code of conduct for mercenaries such as yourself finds it perfectly acceptable to share lodgings in a sheerly functional fashion. Correct?”

Hesitantly, you say,

“Well, yes.”

In his usual serious tone, he tells you,

“Then I should try to draw from the wisdom of your perspective. At the moment, we are more akin a band of mercenaries or an army than we are a monastery. As such, there are admittedly some compromises that may need to be made.”

You have to suppress the urge to chuckle again, just at how grave his expression is for a subject that was really fundamentally not all that serious.

“I promise I’m not _that_ terrible to share quarters with.”

His eyebrows dart higher and he looks at you, alarmed.

“I did not mean to imply– I certainly meant no disrespect, Professor. I simply–”

You wave him off dismissively.

“I’m only teasing. Look, if you’re that determined to agree to it, I won’t stop you. But I do want to emphasize– you absolutely do not need to if you don’t wish it.”

He speaks in his decisive tone:

“I am certain.”

Well. There was no use arguing once he took that tone. You nod.

“All right then, it’s settled. We can wrap things up here and inform people of all the room changes.”

He began to roll one of the sheets of paper back up.

“Very good.”

———-

You were never particularly good when it came to understanding your own feelings.

It wasn’t as though you didn’t have any. You always knew that you did. Even when you were young, you felt the warmth of joy, the spark of curiosity, the grip of fear, the twist of pain, the prickle of anger. It’s simply that these feelings rarely moved you as deeply as others expected of you. Those emotions were always held at a safe distance from you, it seemed, as though you were experiencing them through glass, looking at them through a window. So, sometimes, it wasn’t always easy to recognize what you were looking at. When your father quizzed you about how you were feeling, you weren’t always sure how to respond.

Things began to change when you grew older. It seemed to you that pane of glass grew thinner and thinner still, and emotions began to touch you with growing frequency. Yet it was only when you first arrived at Garreg Mach monastery that your emotions truly began to bleed through.

You were entirely at a loss as to explain why this was. Perhaps it was the responsibility and trust placed in your students. You had gradually grown very close with your charges, shared in their troubles and their triumphs. More and more, working with them, helping them to live and to learn would twinge at your proverbial heart-strings. You found yourself smiling more, frowning more, glaring, even laughing on occasion. You shared so much with your students, and as you helped them grow, you felt as though they did the same for you, letting you reach your inner well of emotion like you never had before.

Yet, your students were not the only ones at Garreg Mach who elicited a reaction from you. At the same time, there were many other faces at the monastery you met, many people you interacted with. There was the soft affection you held for Alois, the camaraderie you shared with Catherine, the protective, almost motherly feelings you had for Cyril, the respect you held for Hanneman. And, most of all, it seemed, the many mixed feelings that swirled within you when you’d met Seteth.

Your feelings surrounding Seteth could be said to a slowly shifting kaleidoscope, a colorful, dazzling mixture that was bright and confusing. For whatever reason, your time spent around him always seemed to seize emotion right down to the quick, feelings bleeding through at a rate far greater than anything you were accustomed to. Perhaps it was the tumultuous nature of how you related to him. At first, you had reported to him regularly, and he treated you with absolute suspicion and disdain, watching and questioning you at your every step; slowly he gave way to treating you with begrudging respect and even a very tentative trust. Then, after the incredibly stressful flurry of events surrounding Flayn’s disappearance, his protective walls seemed to crumble, revealing an entirely new person within. Over the months spent with him, you developed a strong working relationship, and then a bond that grew far beyond work, into a genuine, deep friendship. You came to treat Seteth as not only your right-hand man but as someone to turn to in times of trouble and someone you simply enjoyed the company of. Put simply, you liked him. What’s more, he made you feel things– a sometimes frightening but fascinating prospect you couldn’t seem to pull away from.

Still– at this point, you’d grown convinced you had finally gotten a handle on understanding things. Seteth was _Seteth_. A serious, incredibly competent advisor, an incredible, tireless church leader, and a kind, dear friend. That was all. Surely that was all? It didn’t seem to be particularly complicated.

Feelings, though … every time _those_ were involved, it seemed that things were always more complicated then you originally expected them to be. 

Perhaps that’s why now, as you stooped to open your dresser and gather up some clothing, you felt a strange, anxious buzzing somewhere in your chest. You’d meant all the things you had said before to Seteth, about simply seeing the purely practical in things. Yet for some strange reason, when you thought about gathering your things and moving over to Seteth’s quarters on the third floor… well, that damned buzzing started up again in your chest.

What _was_ this feeling? It made you uneasy. Which was sort of ridiculous, because this was _not_ a big deal– it shouldn’t have you feeling awkward or uneasy. You were perfectly comfortable around Seteth. It’s not as though this was going to be any different then your usual interactions with him.

You shake your head and shove the dresser drawer closed. Were feelings contagious? You remember once, speaking with Hilda and Ignatz, they claimed that laughter was contagious. Maybe that explained it, then– you simply were feeling wary because of how Seteth had been feeling.

That had to be it. Yes?

You gaze at yourself in the dresser mirror for a moment. A pair of aquamarine eyes stare back, framed by messy, pale mint-colored locks of hair. Your expression is tight, a slight line of worry between your eyes. You release a sigh, amused at yourself.

You look at the clock. Perhaps … you wouldn’t leave just yet. It was a little late, yes, but … you weren’t exactly ready to sleep just yet, anyway.

You fuss restlessly with tidying up your corner of the dormitory for a few minutes, just an idle excuse for killing time. A few former students drop by and chat with you for a little while, but they’re on their way to the mess hall, and before long, you’re left alone again, shuffling through the sheets of paper that detailed tomorrow’s activities. You’d checked them over plenty already, and there was really nothing new to do with them.

You check the clock again, for possibly the twelfth time that evening.

Huffing in disgust at yourself, you stand from where you’d been perched on the foot of the bed. This was getting silly. It was quite late at this point and you were frankly exhausted. It was time to get going. There was much to do tomorrow, after all.

You turn and scoop up your smattering of possessions that you’d planned to take with you. Mostly it was just clothing; bedclothes, a change of clothing for tomorrow, a few toiletries, and so forth. You cast a glance around the dormitory one last time.

The anxious little buzzing returns to flutter in your chest. You ignore it, snuffing the candle out and exiting the room.

The walk through Garreg Mach is always a pleasant one, especially when it’s dark out; you find yourself enjoying the walk, and the ready distractions it presented. A number of people are gathered for a late dinner in the mess hall, but many are headed on their way back to dormitories. Some of the knights are out on evening patrol, and you spy Leonie fitting in some late-night training, using a makeshift shooting range that she’d set up in one of the gardens. You watch her for a minute or two, to make sure nobody wanders by that she might accidentally shoot, but it seemed she was being careful of her surroundings.

After passing by, you pick your way through the currently rather messy reception hall and then turn to climb the stairs. The steep, stone steps make for a bit of a long walk, up into the sprawling monastery’s second floor, and then up again into the even higher third story.

The third story of the monastery was a place rarely visited by most. In fact, reflecting on it now, you realized you had really only been up here twice previously, and they had been very brief visits indeed. You knew that Lady Rhea’s personal quarters were on this floor– with her balcony overlooking the rest of the monastery below– but honestly, you had no clue what else the other rooms had housed here.

Among them, apparently, were Seteth’s quarters. It made sense in hindsight, as you’d never seen his quarters elsewhere– although part of you had suspected he didn’t ever really sleep, or that he had slept in his office.

Smirking to yourself at the thought, you push through the hallway you’d been instructed to pass and then find yourself standing in front of the big, oakwood door that apparently led to Seteth’s quarters.

When you raise your hand to knock, the flittering, anxious buzzing stirs in you again. Seteth had always been a fairly private man, you knew; when you’d been nurturing a friendship with him, it had taken him quite some time to open up about his personal life. You wondered briefly if that was part of why he had been so wary now; that potential breach into his private life.

Ah, well. It would be fine; you’d tread lightly on his privacy, if that was the case.

You finally knock, and the door opens almost immediately.

“Professor,” Seteth says primly, briefly eyeing the bundle of items you have tucked under one arm. He then opens the door wider, gesturing lightly.

“Please, come in.”

You find yourself wanting to laugh, just a little– which is confusing, but something about the situation strikes you as silly. Instead, you silently enter into the room beside Seteth.

As he shuts the door behind you, your eyes automatically scan over your surroundings, curious. The room is in surprisingly excellent shape when compared to how well the rest of the monastery fared. A tall, dark-stained oak dresser stands in one corner of the room, with a mirror beside it; in another corner, there is a small table with a few richly-padded chairs; an errant teacup, quill and stack of paper left upon the table. Another dark-stained oak cabinet rested against a wall in the middle, and off to the left, there was a doorway leading into another room. Above, a rather pretty chandelier glittered with candlelight. Against the back wall were a pair of windows and a large bed, covered in a plush green duvet and several pillows.

Duly impressed, you can’t help but comment,

“Wow, Seteth– it’s nice in here!”

He’s standing there stiffly, with his hands tucked behind his back, but he smiles slightly and replies,

“Yes, well. I was very fortunate. The third floor rooms were spared from damage, for the most part. There were a few items stolen, although nothing of any real significance, and most was left untouched.”

You give a thoughtful “mmm” and peer through the doorway to the other room. You let out a whistle.

“You have a private bathroom, too? Even the noble students didn’t have that.”

He looks a little embarrassed.

“Yes, but, ah. There really are only a few quarters on this floor. It wouldn’t exactly be appropriate to share a bathroom with the archbishop, you see.”

You chuckle.

“Right. I didn’t think of that. Makes sense.”

He nods in the direction of the room.

“You’re, ah, you’re free to use the room if you wish, of course.”

“Thanks.”

You glance about the bedroom a little more. Seteth stands there silently. You idly examine a small wall tapestry of some sort of green, winged beast, similar to a picture you’d seen in his office.

“I like the art,” you offer, when Seteth still says nothing more. He looks briefly confused, so you gesture toward the tapestry.

“Ah, yes,” he says,

“Thank you.” He clears his throat awkwardly, and then adds,

“The _Miraculous Healer_ , it’s called.”

“Ah.”

The room falls quiet again, and you fight the urge to fidget nervously with the bundle of clothing in your hands. Instead, you act fascinated with Seteth’s chandelier. When you finally look back down, Seteth is still just standing there, hands tucked neatly behind him. You smile faintly when you catch his eye and then glance away, coughing.

Seteth clears his throat again, and mercifully breaks the silence.

“So, ah … I-I’m uncertain what hours you usually keep, but I was actually thinking about retiring for the evening myself.”

You nod, eagerly.

“Yes. To be honest, I’m pretty exhausted from today, so I’m ready to sleep as well.”

“Good. Very well, then.”

Seteth glances from you to the rest of the room, looking somewhat lost as how to best proceed.

He lookes back to you. He repeats,

“Ah … well, then.”

You smile awkwardly. Seteth clears his throat yet again and then says,

“Then I suppose I shall get prepared for bed first. You’re free to use the bathroom afterwards.”

You nod, and he turns stiffly and disappears into the other room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

You release a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Goddess, this entire thing was … kind of uncomfortable. Your eyes scan around the room absently as you think. It shouldn’t be uncomfortable, but it was. Probably mainly because of how uncomfortable Seteth was. You wonder if there’s a way to make him feel more at ease.

Well, perhaps it didn’t matter. Once you were both asleep, it wouldn’t be a problem. That was what you were here for, after all.

Sleeping.

You blink, staring at the bed against the back wall. The … uh. Single bed.

Um.

How did … how did this escape your notice earlier?

You … you’d sort of assumed before coming over here that there would be … more than one bed? Or that Seteth would … procure a mattress or something if needed?

Your eyes flick around the room, but no, nope, that’s it. That’s all. There was nothing else here.

Right.

Suddenly now, all of Seteth’s misgivings and discomfort made … a lot more sense.

You feel a flush of panic wash over you as reality settles in. Why didn’t he _say_ something? Well, he _did_ , but– Goddess, why didn’t he get another mattress or something? Surely he didn’t think you had expected him all along to share his _bed_ , and not just his room. Did he? Was that … did you accidentally give that impression? Your mind darts over the conversation you’d had earlier. You’re not sure. It’s possible you did.

Oh, Saints have mercy.

You draw in a breath and try to settle yourself. All right, look. It’s fine. This doesn’t change much. You eye the bed. It’s a big bed. A very sizable bed.

A very sizable bed you’d be _sleeping in with Seteth._

Ok, stop. This doesn’t have to be weird if you don’t make it weird. You just … focus on the practical, right? That’s what you’ve always done. The practical here was simply that you two had to share a bed.

… hmmm, no, that still sounded weird. You rub your face and sigh in frustration. _Goddess._ Why did you assume that he would acquire another mattress? It had seemed too obvious to even mention, but … but apparently it wasn’t!

You’re not sure how long you spend there silently freaking out over the situation, but it must have been a while, because you then hear the click of the bathroom door opening again. Your eyes dart over to the doorway.

Cautiously, Seteth immerges from the bathroom, barefoot and dressed in his sleep-clothes. You freeze, staring at him.

His bed-clothes are deep blue, and look to be made of soft cotton; full pants and a buttoned-up shirt, nothing especially unusual or anything to be surprised about. Yet seeing him out of his usual clothing, that baggy tunic and cape paired with a puffy shirt and pants, was somehow … arresting. The cut of the bed-clothes was different. Notincredibly snug– still fairly loose-fitting– yet it was still distinctly shapelier than his tunic, sitting nicely on his legs and hips.

And, there was the fact that the shirt cut down into a V-neck.

Your eyes seemed inexplicably drawn to that, automatically trailing down and examining the bare collarbone, the small glimpse of chest, and the tiniest wisp of dark-green chest hair poking out. It’s … far more of him than you’ve ever seen before, and you can’t seem to drag your gaze away.

Seteth clears his throat. Your eyes are still roaming him.

He coughs, and then, he finally says pointedly,

“Professor.”

His voice snaps you out of your daze, your eyes darting back up to his. You feel your face growing hot, and you almost stammer out an apology before deciding that might make things even worse. Seteth looks embarrassed and had certainly noticed you staring, but at least he didn’t seem too aggravated with you.

“I, um … hi. I guess I’ll … get ready for bed now too.”

Looking even more out-of-sorts now that he stood there in his bed-clothes, he nodded. He still managed a graceful,

“Very well.”

You turn to enter the bathroom, but stop yourself as your mind finally catches up with things. Oh, right– the whole bed situation. You were going to ask about that.

“Um.”

You turn and he looks at you, uncertain.

“Yes?”

You feel guilty for taking so long to bring it up, but it was better now then never.

“Well … it’s just, I … was a little surprised there was only one bed here.”

He blinks at you. Confusion knits his brows.

“It is all I have. Did you … think there were more?”

You fidget with the ball of clothing you’re holding.

“Possibly? I thought you might have procured an extra mattress for tonight.”

“Ah,” he says,

“Unfortunately, there are no more spares left in the monastery, to my knowledge.”

Right. You thought that might have been the case. In retrospect, it made perfect sense.

His voice came tinged with uncertainty;

“Is that going to be a problem?”

You open your mouth to reply, but aren’t really sure what to say. Gradually, something seems to dawn across Seteth’s expression.

“I’m a little confused, Professor. Did you not state earlier that this was what you expected us to do? Ah– share sleeping arrangements, I mean.”

You stare a moment, and are just about to blurt out the truth, but in the last second, something makes you stop.

Nothing good would come from telling him now.

You swallow and smile,

“Um, yes, of course! Yes. This is what I expected. I just meant I thought you _might_ find a spare mattress, is all. Just surprised there were none left. Perfectly fine there isn’t, though.”

Seteth’s eyes narrowed just a little.

“Are you quite certain?”

He gave the bed an anxious glance.

“I could always sleep in my chair, if you’d prefer it. I’ve slept in it before.”

“No. Seteth, come on, there’s no way you could get restful sleep in that.”

He frowned and said,

“It is … sufficient.”

“No. We need better then just sufficient. You told me the army depends on my health and wellbeing– well, the same exact thing is true of you.”

Seteth sighed. You gesture,

“No worries, all right? Like I said before, we did this all the time when I was a mercenary. All the time. Just get comfortable like you normally do.”

He nods at you stiffly, and you make your escape into the bathroom.

When you click the door shut, you let out a strained sigh, then take a moment to collect yourself.

All right. You can do this. It’s a little … unorthodox, but once the lights are out, it will be just another night.

You take your time washing your face, brushing your teeth, and changing into your sleep-clothes. The routine is familiar and comfortable, even if it was somewhere new. Seteth’s bathroom is spacious, tiled in a pretty marbled-green tile, with a beautiful stained glass window. You dawdle for a time before realizing you’d better just get it over with.

You open the door and step back into the dimmed bedroom. You notice the candles in the chandelier above had all been extinguished, and now the only light that remained was a candle flicking on a nightstand beside the bed. Seteth had already gotten into bed and was sitting with his back propped up against the headboard, reading a book.

You hesitate for just a moment, intrigued by the sight of him just going about his evening activities, and then force yourself to move forward.

When you’re close enough that you enter his peripheral vision, he glances up at you. You see him quickly appraise your appearance, up and down, and then his eyes snap immediately back to his book, his expression embarrassed. You’re not wearing anything particularly scandalous– just a simple white bed-gown of a comfortable moderate length, cutting off just above the knees, though it apparently still unnerved Seteth.

After standing there awkwardly a moment, you come around the other side of the bed. Seteth is propped up on the right-hand side of bed, right against the edge and essentially as far as possible, giving you a great deal of room.

You pull back the blankets and very, very gingerly climb under the covers.

Seteth does not budge an inch, eyes still glued to his book. You glance at him, and then at nowhere in particular.

This carries on for some time, with you both sitting propped against the headboard in silence.

Then Seteth gently clears his throat and finally speaks.

“I, ah, I usually like to read a little before sleeping. If you’d prefer the lights off now, though, that’s quite all right.”

You consider it a moment, but then you say,

“No, that’s fine, you can read. The light doesn’t bother me. I’m not ready to fall asleep just yet anyway.”

“All right.”

The room dips back into silence. You spend some time watching the shadows of the candle flicking on the wall, listening to the steady breath from Seteth beside you.

You look at him, out of the corner of your eye. His posture is very stiff and tense, shoulders and head held rigidly.

Trying to offer conversation, you say,

“Busy day tomorrow, huh?”

Your sudden comment in the thick silence seems to almost startle him. After a beat, he simply says,

“Mmm.”

His eyes do not budge from his book.

You sit there a little longer, trying to think of something else to say. Apparently discussing tomorrow’s work was out. You didn’t really blame him for that, though. Work probably didn’t make for good pillow talk.

You turn to look at Seteth a little more directly. He really didn’t seem comfortable at all, the poor guy. Your eyes fall to his book, and you try to read the cover. You can’t quite make it out.

You say,

“Seteth?”

His brows lift a centimeter and he answers,

“Hmm?”

“What are you reading?”

A pause, and then,

“Oh, I, ah …”

The tight grip on his book shifts, and he seems to need a moment to process an answer.

“It’s … a collection of stories on the works of Saint Indech, as told from the point of view of the various people he helped.”

“I see,” you say, not surprised. It sounded like something Seteth would read for fun. You try to think of something else to ask him about the book, because Seteth certainly wasn’t going to volunteer anything.

You settle for simply asking,

“Is it a good read?”

He considers that a moment, then replies,

“For the most part, yes. As there are multiple authors, the quality of the prose varies. Some of the authors tend to get bogged down in unrelated details, such as outlining their family genealogies and political squabbles, but other authors are highly astute. The chapter I’m currently on is especially interesting, as it traces how Indech’s advancement of bow technology heavily altered local villages’ hunting practices.”

Your mind drifts to your discussions with Leonie and her time spent hunting in her village. You say,

“That’s actually pretty neat. What changes did he make, exactly?”

You watch the candlelight flickering and reflecting off Seteth’s profile as he answers.

“Well, he mostly altered how bowstrings were produced. His method allowed for the creation of stronger, better bowstrings, in a nutshell. Suddenly, the prospect of hunting became less dangerous. Hunters could attack large game from a much greater, safer range. It became more common to teach bow hunting to the younger villagers and to women who previously worked in other trades. The effect cascaded and there was a new generation of women raised as hunters.”

You rested your chin onto a hand and hum in interest.

“And it started from just stronger bowstrings. Funny how things can have a ripple effect on culture.”

Seteth nodded.

“I’m fascinated with those sort of ripple effects, actually. I’ve been thinking of drawing from this particular story to compose my own fable based around Saint Indech.”

You perk up.

“Oh, you write fables? Really?”

“Yes, on occasion. The language doesn’t always flow as smoothly as I’d like, but it’s a challenge I enjoy.”

Genuinely intrigued, you tell him,

“I’d love to read something you’ve written sometime, if that’s all right.”

Seteth smiles,

“Yes, that would be very nice, actually. I’d love to hear some feedback–”

He stops short– in that moment he had finally switched from staring at his book to looking directly at you as he spoke, and it seemed that had been a mistake. Looking very awkward now, he cleared his throat and darted his gaze safely back to his book. He murmured,

“Ah, um, yes. Feedback would be nice.”

Damn. You almost had a normal conversation.

You sigh. You couldn’t exactly blame him, you supposed. The situation was sort of a weird one.

Belatedly, you answer,

“I’ll be happy to give it.”

He simply hums in response. Apparently absorbed in his book again. Although, the more you think about it, the more you suspect he hasn’t turned a single page so far tonight.

A few more minutes pass in silence. You let out a quiet sigh.

Suddenly, you hear,

“Professor.”

You almost startle at that. You glance to Seteth. He’s still looking at his book.

He says,

“You seem … restless.”

You blink.

“I … yeah, I am a little,” you admit.

Hesitantly, he asks,

“Is there … a normal routine you have for the evenings? I usually like to read. What do you normally do to relax before sleep?”

You have to think about it for a moment, running a typical evening through your mind.

“Well, I don’t normally read. Sometimes I like to go for a walk around the monastery, though. I find it really peaceful at night.”

You ponder it a little more, and then crack a self-conscious smile.

“If I’m feeling _really_ restless, I might swing my sword around a little and do practice strokes before sleeping, even if it’s just in my bed-clothes. Tire myself out, you know? It’s a bit silly, I guess.”

Seteth answers mildly,

“It isn’t silly. If you wish to do so now, please, do not let my presence interrupt you.”

You balk at him, slightly.

“Now?”

“Of course.”

You laugh.

“No, I … I don’t have my sword, anyway.”

Seteth lowers his book a little, casts you a sideways glance, and then gestures toward the far wall.

“There are some practice weapons I keep in the bottom drawer. You’re free to use them.”

You look at him, and he continues to look at you out of the corner of his eye. You feel your face warming.

“I … I don’t know, Seteth, it would feel kind of weird? I’m not sure why.”

His returns his focus to his book, murmuring calmly,

“Not any stranger than anything else this evening.”

You consider that.

He had a valid point. If he didn’t mind you getting into bed with him tonight, well, dancing around, swinging a sword in your bed-clothes certainly wouldn’t seem any odder.

You wordlessly hop out of bed and stride across the room. You find a number of carefully-maintained weapons in the bottom drawer of the cabinet, and select a long, slender sword from the group. You run a thumb along the blade, which has been dulled for practice.

Moving to the center of the room, you cast Seteth a glance. He’s simply involved in reading, as usual. You’re honestly not sure why you feel so self-conscious about doing this now, anyway. It wasn’t as though you normally felt self-conscious when you practiced swordplay during the day. It was just … what you did in the evenings in your bedroom wasn’t really what you’d call _practice_ , per se. It was more of a private routine. You didn’t worry about your form or posture or anything important like that– you just enjoyed the swing of your blade and did whatever moved you. Some nights, you’d find yourself buzzing with strange, antsy feelings; but if you swung your weapon long enough– exhausted yourself– it usually quieted your mind down, set you more at ease.

You grip the handle of the blade, closing your eyes. Truthfully, this was the perfect time to indulge in that now. You could feel the restless swirl of emotions within you now.

So, you draw in a breath, ignoring that you are in the middle of Seteth’s bedroom, at present.

Then you lift the sword, giving it a few testing swipes. It hums in the air with a nice, crisp sound. You swing left, right, and left. The balance of the weapon is well-suited for you, and it feels natural and easy to wield. A little lighter than your usual weapon, but still satisfying.

You coil your muscles and then charge forward, slashing in a forceful downward strike before spinning around, following up with a lash upwards and to the side. You fill your mind with imaginary foes, brigands in the past that you’d seen razing villages, arrogant, cocky brutes that had tormented villagers. You slash into their weapons, again and again, forcing them back. In your mind’s eye you overpower their axes, battering them aside before striking down your opponents. 

You pause a moment for breath, before springing forward again, swinging.

This time you don’t imagine any sort of foe. You just swing your weapon in any way that feels right. You enjoy the hum of the blade, feel the pull of your muscles, the rush of air as you swing around, your sleeping-gown swirling carelessly along with your motions. You let the cries from your exertion bubble up out your throat as you slash, putting your full strength into the motions. Your pulse jumps in your neck, blood coursing excitedly through you. It felt good to cut loose.

Something makes you glance up just then, and you find your eye catching Seteth’s intent gaze– he was sneaking a look over the top of his book at you. You freeze in his gaze and he visibly startles at the eye contact, glancing back down to his book and looking chastised.

“A-apologies,” he stammers.

It had only been the briefest of moments, but the image of Seteth clandestinely watching you with such a captivated green gaze was burned clearly in your mind. You don’t know if it’s the rush of energy whirling around within you, the rhythmic beat of your pulse, but you find yourself eager to rile Seteth up a little.

You draw nearer to him, close enough so you can see his reaction, and breathlessly, you tell him;

“You can watch if you’d like to, Seteth.”

His whole body stiffens, and you see his jaw clench, his face practically buried completely in his book now.

“T-that’s quite all right, Professor.”

You carefully study him a moment. With a playful swish of the sword, you say,

“Then join me, perhaps?”

His eyes widen, and you think you see his throat bob.

“I’m, ah, I’m quite fine just reading, but thank you.”

You give a disappointed little sigh. It was probably enough teasing.

So you return to swinging your weapon around a little more. This time, you cast occasional glances Seteth’s way, keenly aware of his presence. However, it seemed he was determined to stick with his book now, as he kept his face buried firmly behind it. A pity.

You try to exercise until you’ve burned off all of your excess energy, pushing yourself hard. It’s difficult; you seem to have far more energy than usual tonight. It takes a great deal of swinging and leaping. But eventually, you find your movements slowing and your body tiring.

When that finally happens, you return the practice sword to its drawer, and then rejoin Seteth in bed. It feels good and cleansing, exercising so hard like that. You give a pleasant sigh.

It doesn’t take long for Seteth to clear his throat and then delicately ask you,

“Shall I turn the lights off?”

You agree. He bookmarks his book, sets it on his nightstand, then picks up the candle snuffer, setting its scoop over the flame.

The room slips into darkness. Your breath is still heavy from all of your exertion, but slowly it settles down into a softer pattern.

You lay there in the stilled room.

Seteth shuffles, presumably sliding down from his sitting position and getting under the covers properly. You’re struck again with a strong feeling of how odd this all is.

But, as the room remains quiet and the moments stretch on into minutes, the feeling slowly fades. It becomes easy to pretend that you’re just in some dorm room, in some normal, random bed. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Turning over on your side, you fluff your pillow and sigh.

Just as your thoughts start to drift in a gentle aimlessness, your focus is suddenly pulled back sharply to the soft voice murmuring right beside you:

“Good night, Professor.”

That nervous buzz of energy in your chest comes roaring back to life as easily as if it had never left you, flickering within like the spark of tireless flames. All of that exercising to chase it away had been in vain, it seemed. You’ll be damned if you ever identify exactly what this feeling was, but it seemed Seteth was an expert at eliciting it from you.

Drawing in a breath, you try your best to settle the excited skip of your pulse. You answer him quietly.

“Goodnight, Seteth.”

———-

It takes you a long, long time to fall asleep, even after exhausting yourself with exercise. You pass the time by listening to the quiet, occasional shuffling from the man beside you, the gentle rhythm of his breath. Your senses seem hyperaware of every sound he makes. It wasn’t as though he was being particularly loud, either; you just couldn’t help the ripple of strange energy each time he shifted beside you.

In a way, it’s almost torturous. But eventually, even in your anxious state, sleep does decide to claim you. A peaceful and mercifully dreamless sleep, one that you manage to pass through until morning.

Your mind is slow in rousing when you next wake. You feel yourself gradually lifting toward consciousness, but grumble at the thought of it, turning over and pressing your face firmly into your pillow.

You pull in a lingering breath, the pillow’s scent familiar and lightly earthy. You sigh, letting yourself relax and drift back towards the tempting call of sleep.

You feel yourself just about to sink back into gentle oblivion, but a sound on the edges of your senses stops you. It grows louder, a rhythmic sort of rumbling.

Gradually, you’re pulled from sleep, and you reluctantly blink awake.

The first thing you see is Seteth’s face, relaxed in slumber and _very_ close to you. Really, _really_ close– as he exhales, you can feel the gentle push of his breath on your face.

Instantly on alert, your pulse bouncing up in an alarmed flicker, you scooch away, to put a more comfortable distance between you.

Then you stare, still startled by your sudden situation.

A few beats, and Seteth gives a snore.

It’s a tiny, nasal rumbling, kind of adorable, really– absolutely nothing like the awful sound you’ve heard your father or some of your former students produce– but it strikes you as incredibly amusing coming from Seteth. You can’t help but grin widely.

Too amused to immediately move, you instead remain laying there and take the opportunity to study the man snoring beside you. When you usually see Seteth, his face is tensed from work or stress, his brow knitted in deep lines and his jaw set tightly. It’s a rare thing to find him looking so peaceful, and it was striking to look at now. His hair, which was already rather wild and sweeping, was now absolutely ruffled from sleep. It was honestly endearing. As you study him, you’re struck with an incredibly irrational urge to reach out and smooth out the errant green locks. They look so soft.

You blink and mentally chide yourself. Imagine Seteth waking up to you doing _that_ , for goodness’ sakes. That’d be an awkward conversation to have.

You tense as suddenly the man beside you shifts, nudging his head deeper into his pillow, then giving another gentle snore. A lock of hair falls astray, revealing an ear normally buried in a tangle of green hair.

A … a strangely … pointed ear?

You stare, wondering at first if you’re seeing things, but no, it was pretty unmistakable. Instead of the usual curve, the shell of his ear came to a long, elegantly pointed tip.

You’re fascinated. You edge just a little bit closer to Seteth, studying his ear. It strikes you as very _strange_ at first, almost a little jarring, but then, the more you examine, the more you realize how _natural_ a thing it looks; in fact, how agreeably it complimented Seteth’s austere, angular face. You very quickly come to admire the trait.

You’re bubbling with questions. Was he born this way? Was it something other people had, like, a hereditary trait, or was it unique to him? Come to think of it, you had no idea where Seteth was born.

You find yourself reaching out, tempted to push aside just a teeny bit more of hair, but then Seteth stirs again and you almost jump out of your skin at nearly being caught.

Seteth mumbles and his eyes flicker open, and you find yourself in the rather uncomfortable predicament of being caught by his eye contact as you lay there beside him.

His lips part slightly, and you can see the gears in his mind turning as he tries to process why, exactly, he was waking up with you gazing right at him.

You’re embarrassed, but it was too late now to feign innocence.

“Umm, good morning,” you say.

He blinks at you, then pushes himself up slightly on his elbows.

“Good … good morning.”

At a loss for how to make it less awkward, you gamely try,

“Uh, sleep well?”

He looks about to reply, but then there’s a panicked flicker in his eye and his hand comes up quickly to his face, tugging through his hair and pushing his exposed ear back behind locks of green hair.

You look at him for a few beats.

His tongue wets his lips and he says sheepishly,

“I suppose you saw that, then.”

You give him an awkward little smile.

“Uh, yeah.”

He sits up in bed, and you do likewise. He looks rattled. You blurt out,

“I’m sorry, I– are you self-conscious about it? You don’t need to be.”

He examines you a moment, then gets out of bed, nervously running a hand through his ruffled hair again.

“Ah, yes, well. It is … something I prefer to keep to myself.”

Damn– your curiosity would have to be put on hold, it seemed. You wanted to question him, but he really didn’t seem up for it.

“I will forget about it then, if you wish. Although, I …”

You pause to sort out your words.

“If it’s a matter of worrying others might think it odd, I don’t think that’s a problem. It looks rather handsome, actually.”

He had been facing away from you, but at your comment, he turns, and you catch his bashful expression.

“A-ah … thank you.”

You don’t have much time to appreciate the bed-ruffled, flustered Seteth before you, as he turns away again and says,

“But yes, I think I’d rather you just forget it, if you’d be so kind.”

You nod.

“Done.”

He clears his throat.

“Thank you. I, ah, shall go and get dressed, then.”

He goes to first collect clothing from his dresser before departing for the bathroom.

You sink back down, letting your head land back on the pillow.

What a strange time it’s been, lately. You marvel over the silly set of circumstances that had led you here.

You pull in a breath to sigh, and again smell that pleasant, lightly earthy tone from your pillow, catching hints of soap and just a little bit of musk.

You swallow, realizing very belatedly that you’re breathing Seteth’s scent.

“Okay, time to get up,” you yelp, springing from bed.

Eventually, Seteth immerges from the bathroom, clothed as you’re used to seeing him, carefully preened and smelling fresh from a shower.

“I have an early meeting with the knights,” he tells you,

“So I will be joining them presently. I’ll see you at the ten o’ clock war council?”

You agree, and he then leaves you to your own devices.

You’re quick to complete your morning routine, trying very hard not to think too much about the strangeness of using Seteth’s shower, before getting dressed and pulling your boots on.

You check your reflection in the mirror that rests beside Seteth’s dresser.

Looking yourself in the eye, you try to steel yourself. Today would be a busy day, full of much more planning, meetings, and going over the details for rebuilding the monastery and the resistance army.

You’re ready.

You try to ignore the sneaking suspicion within you that it may be just a little bit difficult to focus today.


End file.
